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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061818">This Old House</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/camshaft22/pseuds/camshaft22'>camshaft22</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curuchamion/pseuds/thedarlingone'>thedarlingone (Curuchamion)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston &amp; Michael Stackpole</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Happy Ending, Homelessness, M/M, Marine Corps, Meet-Cute, Tumblr Prompt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:22:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,832</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061818</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/camshaft22/pseuds/camshaft22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curuchamion/pseuds/thedarlingone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hobbie inherits a house and finds someone unexpected there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wes Janson/Derek "Hobbie" Klivian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Derek "Hobbie" Klivian (Capt., USMC, ret.), jingled his keys in his prosthetic hand as he strolled up the long, overgrown walk to his new... well, newly acquired house. He kept half an eye on the ground in front of him, placing his cane carefully before each step. It had been at least a few months since he'd tripped over his own prosthetic feet, and he'd like to maintain that winning streak.</p>
<p>It was the height of summer. Birds darted around him, bugs hummed and buzzed, and all the plants were riotously green. Hobbie was not a particularly outdoorsy person, but it was nice to have a place set well away from any neighbors. Great-Aunt Adelia Faye's house came with a couple of acres and a duck pond.</p>
<p>Also, it was huge. It was Victorianish and fancy and it loomed. There were columns and lattices and frilly woodwork everywhere. Every angle of roof seemed to have a chimney. There was a veranda.</p>
<p>Hobbie climbed carefully up the steps to the veranda, thumping each one first with his cane, but they didn't seem to be rotten at the moment. He made his way across the warping wood expanse to the front door, or at least a door. He'd always had trouble telling which side of a veranda indicated the front of a house.</p>
<p>After trying a couple of keys in the locks, the door opened. It creaked. Hobbie found himself rolling his eyes slightly. That kind of a creak went with howling Halloween windy nights, not bright summer days when the sheer smell of chlorophyll in the air seemed determined to shove itself up your nose.</p>
<p>There wasn't a lot of light in here. Hobbie hadn't had the power or water turned on yet; this was an initial recon mission before he decided what to do with the place, although he was leaning toward living in it if it was livable. Not like he really had anything else demanding his attention these days. He pulled out his cell phone and turned on the flashlight, shining it around.</p>
<p>The parlor was burgundy. Very, very burgundy. There were heavy burgundy drapes and a thick carpet that looked like it had been burgundy before the dust got to it, and an upright piano draped in burgundy hangings, and a lot of dark walnut bookcases covered in dust and cobwebs. It looked like a haunted house set, the kind that didn't expect to see a lot of gore. One of the burgundy drapes stirred slightly in the breeze from the open door behind Hobbie, and a finger of sunlight stabbed in for a moment, through the dusty air and across the floor. There were white lace curtains behind the burgundy drapes. Either the set designer here didn't expect any gore, or there was going to be dramatic splashing at some point. It looked Hitchcockian.</p>
<p>Hobbie shook his head. He was letting his imagination run away with him. Nobody had set-designed this. Even though the cobwebs were extremely picturesque.</p>
<p>He closed the front door carefully behind him and prowled deeper into the house, shining the flashlight on the floor so he didn't trip or fall into a hole. He'd have to get some proper lighting in here before he could really see the place's potential, he suspected. He found a wood-paneled hallway, and another parlor -- this one done in flowery chintz, with overstuffed sofas in cream and blue and dust-covered dusty rose, matching the gilt-edged teacups on every bookshelf -- and a small square room almost entirely filled with a giant dark-wood desk smothered in papers. That one had entirely too many blank-eyed porcelain dolls staring into emptiness from the rows of shelves, their glass eyes glinting in the light from his cell phone. Was there a wall in this house <em>not</em> covered in shelving of some sort? Hobbie closed that door firmly and moved on.</p>
<p>Around a complicated corner at the end of the hall, he found the dining room. It was large. It was cavernously large, with silver candlesticks on the huge table, and an entire silver tea service on the side... thingy. It looked like Count Dracula should come sweeping in and invite Hobbie to an ominous supper. </p>
<p>Maybe it would look less melodramatic in daylight. Hobbie made his way through the dining room, pausing to shine his flashlight under the table through the forest of clawfooted chair legs and make sure nothing was lurking. The kitchen door had a hatch next to it, a closed pair of shutters like a cupboard for the butler to hand covered dishes through. Hobbie did not plan to hire a butler. In fact, the whole kitchen could wait. He would order pizza. That was what you did on a moving day, you ordered pizza.</p>
<p>There was another door to the side of the dining room. Hobbie went through it and found yet another parlor. This one had brown leather sofas and chairs, and more bookshelves. At least these shelves had books instead of dolls or plates. Hobbie shone his flashlight around the room and stopped for a moment to admire the very large brick fireplace, which looked extremely functional despite the array of bricbrac on the mantelpiece. (There was a ship in a bottle. Hobbie was not remotely surprised anymore. He suspected there was probably a dress form in the attic, and mice, and all the other things you could possibly expect to find in a large Victorian house.)</p>
<p>Honestly, the fireplace looked <em>very</em> functional. As in, there was soot in it. Recent-looking soot. <em>Warm</em>-looking soot.</p>
<p>Hobbie prowled a little closer, shining his flashlight around carefully. There was a... was that a pile of rags? <em>Oh fuck!</em></p>
<p>That was... not a pile of rags. That was a person. A scruffy-looking person, huddled into a tight little ball between the fireplace hearth and the corner of the wall. The person's head rested on a thick black bundle -- a backpack? -- which was not dusty at all.</p>
<p>Shit. Fuck. Shit. Was that a... shit. Hobbie had seen dead bodies before, of course he had, he was a <em>Marine</em>, but they were usually... missing chunks. And not lying in the middle of Great-Aunt Adelia Faye Klivian's Victorian manor, like a murder mystery gone awry.</p>
<p>"I knew it," he muttered almost silently to himself. He should have known when he saw the roomful of porcelain dolls. There had to be <em>something</em> going on here.</p>
<p>Was it a dead body? It wasn't snoring. There wasn't enough flesh visible to see if it <em>looked</em> dead; it had most of its face buried in a duffel bag which it clutched tightly in its arms, and its hands were tucked into its sleeves. It didn't especially <em>smell</em> dead, but again, did dead people smell different if they hadn't been blown to pieces by IEDs?</p>
<p>Fine. There was really only one way to solve this. Hobbie crept very carefully closer, lifted his cane, and jabbed the possibly-dead person in the ribs.</p>
<p>The next few seconds happened very fast. The person moved -- jerked, grabbed, yanked. Hobbie yanked back, lost his footing, and fell on his ass. His cell phone went flying.</p>
<p>Once Hobbie had sorted himself out and sat up again, he found that his cell phone had skidded to a halt just out of arm's reach, flashlight side uppermost. The not-dead person, who had a lot of dark hair and a scruffy dark beard, was crouching on one knee with his back to the wall and a knife in one hand, giving Hobbie a look that probably would have been baleful even with the lights on, and in the glint of the flashlight was downright malevolent.</p>
<p>"Hey buddy," Hobbie said gently. "Hey, it's ok. I thought you were dead. I'd rather not get stabbed, ok? Are you going to stab me?" </p>
<p>The not-dead guy gave Hobbie a look that said he was strongly considering it. "The fuck are you doing here?" he growled. Texan. </p>
<p>"I inherited the house from my Great-Aunt Adelia Faye. Who had shit taste honestly," Hobbie said dryly. He had served with a lot of Texans. He might get stabbed even with an explanation. Fuck. </p>
<p>The Texan snorted a brief little laugh. "You find the room full of dolls?"</p>
<p>"Yes! What the fuck?" Hobbie asked. "Dude, I thought Iraq was fucked. All I had to do is stay here if I wanted to be terrified." </p>
<p>"Iraq, huh," the Texan said, giving Hobbie a comprehensive look. His gaze didn't linger on Hobbie's prosthetic hand, but Hobbie felt confident that it had been noticed. Probably his prosthetic legs too, despite his jeans and combat boots covering them.</p>
<p>The Texan shifted, and the knife disappeared somewhere. "Well, I'll get out of your hair," he said, levering himself up with one hand on the wall. He slung his backpack onto his back almost before Hobbie could blink. "Sorry to bother. I didn't know anybody was going to be here." He picked up his duffel bag, then held out his free hand almost shyly. "Uh, you want a hand up?"</p>
<p>"Sure," Hobbie told him, offering his real hand. "I can stand but would you mind handing me the cane once I'm up?" </p>
<p>"No problem," the Texan said. He took Hobbie's hand in a strong, firm grip and let Hobbie haul himself to his feet, then bent and retrieved the cane, handing it to Hobbie. "There you go."</p>
<p>"Appreciate it," Hobbie said. "Are… hey, I know this is awkward and weird, but." The Texan seemed like a decent guy, honestly. Hadn't stabbed Hobbie, hadn't wrecked the place in however long he'd been living here. Hobbie felt a little bad about having to throw him out. "Can I get you a pizza or something? You've obviously been hanging out. Which helps because maybe you can tell me what's wrong with the place?" </p>
<p>If the Texan blushed, it wasn't visible under his patchy black beard, but he looked away awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Pizza sounds good," he admitted, sounding like a man whose pride had just lost a wrestling match with his stomach. "I'll boil some water from the well."</p>
<p>"Oh nice," Hobbie said. "I knew there was a well but I wasn't sure if it was dried up or not. I'll look up somewhere to order from." </p>
<p>The Texan nodded, as if accepting orders. "Be right back," he said and left the room, taking his bags with him.</p>
<p>Hobbie watched him go and picked up his phone. Fuck yes, his phone was fine. He sat down on the brick hearth next to the fireplace, pulled up google, and looked for pizza delivery. It was only the two of them but he had a feeling the other guy hadn't eaten in days. He needed to figure out how to get him to stay. Hobbie probably shouldn't trust him. Not really but… he was going to. Hopefully the guy would trust him back. He didn't seem like he was a tweaker or a crackhead or the kind of crazy that would be better off getting some serious professional help. Just… sometimes bad shit happened to people. </p>
<p>After a few minutes, the Texan returned, minus his bags and carefully carrying a bucket and a saucepan. He set the bucket down by the hearth, dipped out some water into the saucepan, and started poking at the soot in the fireplace, which Hobbie now realized was not just soot but a carefully banked fire. Within a short time, he had the fire burning nicely and the saucepan sitting on a metal contraption that Hobbie had assumed was part of the fireplace. Maybe it was.</p>
<p>“Pizza will be here in a sec. I got some soda too,” Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>"Oh, good," the guy said. "What'd you get? Pepperoni, cheese? Supreme?"</p>
<p>“All three,” Hobbie told him. “Let’s see if these degens know how to get down here.” </p>
<p>The Texan sat down on the other side of the fireplace, leaning his head back against the bricks. "My name's Wes Janson," he said. "What about you?"</p>
<p>“Hobbie… Oh wait, my real name is Derek Klivian. But my friends call me Hobbie. Platoon nicknames, you know? You can call me Hobbie.” </p>
<p>Janson half-shrugged and smiled, almost shyly. "Hobbie. Okay." </p>
<p>There was a knock on the door. Hobbie smiled. “Brave. I’ll be back,” he said, getting up and starting towards the door. </p>
<p>Janson stood up too. "I can get that," he offered.</p>
<p>Hobbie nodded. “Sure. I’ll make sure the water doesn’t boil over,” he said, turning around and walking back to the hearth. He sat down and waited. </p>
<p>Janson hurried out another door Hobbie hadn't noticed -- of course, he'd know his way around the house after staying here for however long, that could actually be really helpful. Hobbie heard a brief conversation, then Janson reappeared carrying three pizza boxes and a bag with two bottles of soda. "Breakfast's ready," he said with another brief, fleeting smile.</p>
<p>“Appreciate it,” Hobbie told him. The two of them started eating. After a few minutes, Hobbie glanced at him. “So, I was thinking. I’ve got to get the power on and the water changed over in a bit, but could I maybe count on you to help me out here? I can pay you. I don’t know if you know anything about houses but I’m trying to renovate so I can live here, so even the smallest thing will help at this point.” </p>
<p>Janson gave a wry laugh and finished his mouthful of pizza. "I know a few things, yeah," he said. Hobbie got the sense he'd said something that was only funny if you knew more about Janson's past than he did.</p>
<p>“Would you care for a job? I’ll look at contractor’s rates and we can figure out something. Plus you can stay here. Lord knows there’s enough damn rooms.” </p>
<p>Janson stuffed another bite of pizza in his mouth before answering. "You don't have to do this, you know," he said, not meeting Hobbie's eyes. "Any of this. I mean, I'll live. It's fine."</p>
<p>“Dude, I know. But you knew there was a door like right there,” Hobbie told him. “I don’t have to do shit but I want to. So do you want to help?” </p>
<p>Janson leaned back, shut his eyes, and sighed. "I've been itching to get this place fixed up," he admitted. "I didn't touch anything because obviously it's not... mine, but if you want me to. I would <em>love</em> to help get this place fixed up."</p>
<p>“You have my full blessing. I want to live here but I have no idea where to start,” Hobbie admitted. “Like, I can do a lot of shit but this isn’t my wheelhouse.” </p>
<p>"Well, let's start by, as they say, shedding some light on the subject," Janson said. He stuffed the rest of his current slice of pizza in his mouth, went over to one of the indistinguishable darknesses in the wall, which had to be curtains only because it didn't appear to be a bookshelf, and fished around at the side of it. "This is gonna be bright." </p>
<p>Hobbie covered his eyes with his prosthetic and finished his slice of pizza. It was indeed bright. Hobbie moved his hand down and looked around. Fuck it was ugly. But at least there was light. “Wow, she really had shit taste.”  </p>
<p>"Gotta love the clear vinyl slipcovers," Janson agreed. "I figure we want dust masks and goggles before we start stirring up too much of this shit. Otherwise we'll be coughing up a lung instead of getting anything done."</p>
<p>“I already ejected my spleen so how about not,” Hobbie drawled. “Do you have like a burner phone or something? I was thinking you could text me a list of things we need immediately and I could get some shit at the Home Depot.” </p>
<p>Janson fished a small flip phone out of his pocket, opened it up, and poked at the buttons for a second. "What's your number?" he asked.</p>
<p>Hobbie gave him his number, and Janson tapped it into his phone. “Unless you want to come with?” Hobbie asked.</p>
<p>Janson glanced away, shy again. "I mean, I could. I need to pick up some shit if I'm gonna be living here. Soap and stuff."</p>
<p>“I’ll throw in a stop at the local store then,” Hobbie said. “I could probably use something that’s not airplane safe anyway. I called a few days ago so hopefully all we’ll have to do is go in, pay them money and we’ll have things turned on.” </p>
<p>"Yay, running water?" Janson joked.</p>
<p>“It’s kinda the best,” Hobbie said with a grin. “Like, I love some baby wipes but I thought I was done with that shit.” </p>
<p>"Right?" Janson grinned. "And electricity, even. Light!"</p>
<p>“Best part of being in the states,” Hobbie said with a grin. “I’m ready to go when you are,” he invited.</p>
<p>Janson stuck his phone back in his pocket and looked dubiously at the pizza boxes. The Supreme was totally gone, the cheese pizza barely dented. "Should we stick the rest in the fridge so once the power comes on it'll be in there?" he asked. "I kinda... threw away what little was in the fridge when I came here, because it was moldy anyway. Figured nobody would mind."</p>
<p>Hobbie nodded. “Well, good work. Yeah, go ahead,” he told him. Hobbie could’ve used Janson before now. He was pretty on top of things. Janson stacked the cheese and pepperoni pizza boxes and took them into the kitchen. Once he returned, he folded the empty box and began banking the fire again.</p>
<p>“Hopefully it won’t be some big ordeal," Hobbie said. "So, electric, water, chain store, home depot. Anything else, Janson?” </p>
<p>"That should cover it," he said. "I'm sure we'll find more things we need once the power and water are working."</p>
<p>“Definitely,” Hobbie told him. “That’s how it always shakes out. But we’ll at least be able to start.” He paused. “Do you want to get your ears lowered?” Hobbie gestured at Janson's hair and beard. “If you were one of my men, Gunny would’ve been all over your ass.” </p>
<p>Janson barked a startled laugh. "Fuck yes," he said. "I was figuring I'd pick up a razor, but..." He tugged on his wiry beard. "This is kind of like a thicket. Better to let the professionals in there with the pruning shears."</p>
<p>“There’s probably something near the utilities. I’ll drop you off and get shit done. We don’t have a grooming standard anymore as civilians but I know how good it can feel. I know it’s a thing but I can give you an advance of your first check, that way you can get the goods,” Hobbie told him.</p>
<p>Janson shoved one hand into his matted black hair, pushing the thick tangles back from his face. "You realize I never served," he said quietly.</p>
<p>Hobbie frowned and looked at him in confusion. “Well fuck. That was fucking rude of me,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. You scream Lance Corporal at me and I… I wasn’t supposed to get out like this. Sorry. But I still meant what I said. I’m not here to take advantage of you or whatever. You don’t owe me shit. It’s just an advance of what I was going to pay you anyway.” </p>
<p>Janson rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck. "I guess you're the one taking the risk," he said with a sideways grin. "Sorry. I just... you get cautious. Y'know?"</p>
<p>“Well, that just means you’re not just a pretty face,” Hobbie told him with a shrug. “What risk? I’m a Force Recon motherfucker.” </p>
<p>"Well, I was mainly thinking if I was to run off with the money," Janson said, half teasingly. "I wasn't planning to tangle with you. I got lucky knocking you on your ass once."</p>
<p>"Fuck yeah you did," Hobbie said. “But if you run off, then I’m out a few extra dollars and you miss the opportunity to hang out with me. Who’s really losing here?” he retorted.</p>
<p>Janson laughed at that, a real laugh. He had a good laugh, open-hearted and boisterous. "Let's get going, shall we?" He stood up from the fire and held out a hand, not quite assuming Hobbie needed or wanted the help getting up, but offering if he did.</p>
<p>Hobbie looked at the hand and took it. It was a gesture of trust plus he really did need the assist. Janson was strong, sturdy, and he probably wasn't even at his best. Hobbie settled on his legs and tried to stop evaluating the other man. Janson wasn't one of his. He was just someone Hobbie could help. </p>
<p>They walked outside together, Janson leading the way to the front door, then dropping back to flank him down the path. Hobbie smirked slightly, waiting to see his reaction to the Shelby. </p>
<p>When he saw the bright red sports car, Janson raised his eyebrows, looked back and forth from Hobbie to the car a couple of times, and tilted his head. "Not exactly what I expected from a Force Recon motherfucker," he teased lightly.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry that you can't see the beauty in front of you. It must be hard to be so blind. I mean, I shouldn't expect much from a Texan. Y'all use trucks like cars so what do you know about a real vehicle?" </p>
<p>Janson hooted with laughter. "I guess if you're just staying on good roads all the time," he said, and opened the driver's side door for Hobbie. "This thing ever bottom out in a pothole, though, you'd be real happy to have a truck with a winch stop for you."</p>
<p>"Thank you," Hobbie told him. "Why? I got you, don't I? You can push." </p>
<p>Janson cackled, throwing his head back, and trotted around the car to get in the other side. "I probably would if you asked nicely," he agreed cheerfully.</p>
<p>"Push it real good?" Hobbie asked while he got into his seat. </p>
<p>Janson smirked. "You'll have to show me her paces sometime," he said.</p>
<p>"You bet," Hobbie told him. He shifted and pulled out his wallet. "Here," Hobbie said, handing him a bill. "An advance." </p>
<p>Janson's eyes went wide at the hundred-dollar bill. He looked like he was about to say something, stopped, swallowed. "Thank you," he said politely, tucking the money into his pocket.</p>
<p>"It's cool," Hobbie told him. He put his phone into a holster and pulled up Google maps. "Do you know anywhere in particular that you'd like to go?" </p>
<p>Janson shrugged. "I'm not from here. Find a barbershop near the utility places?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, ok," Hobbie agreed. He looked up barbershops nearby and picked one at random. Hobbie revved his engine and off they took. He started one of his playlists and he drove around town, going towards the center of town. He considered asking Janson about his home but it seemed like a bad idea. "Summer or Winter?" </p>
<p>"Fall," Janson said promptly. "The leaves, and the really bright blue skies, and the weather getting a little chillier, and hot cocoa and sweater paws and Halloween. I fucking love Halloween."</p>
<p>"Halloween is baller," Hobbie agreed. "Sushi or steak?"</p>
<p>Janson pulled a face. "Truthfully? Hamburger. I'm not classy." He gave a short little self-deprecating laugh. "Sushi is... squishy."</p>
<p>Hobbie laughed. "Fair. Blonde or Brunette?"</p>
<p>Janson gave that one a moment's consideration. "Doesn't matter as long as we're having fun," he said finally.</p>
<p>"Niceeeeee. Equal opportunity," Hobbie told him. "Oh hey, here we are," he said and pulled to a stop. "Your stop."</p>
<p>Janson bounced out of the car. "Oop," he said, pulling his flip phone out of his pocket. "Lemme send you a quick text so you have my number too." He typed for a couple of seconds, then Hobbie's phone dinged.</p>
<p>"Got you. Text me when you're done," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>"Absolutely," Janson said. He turned around, squared his shoulders, and headed for the barber shop.</p>
<p>Hobbie watched him go and felt a surge of pride. Good soldier. He pulled away from the barbershop and got busy. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Hobbie parked the car and got out in front of the barbershop. He hoped they hadn't been dicks to Janson. There was a short, stocky brunette man standing outside the shop, looking like he was on fire watch. Hobbie almost stopped. That was Janson. Hair was cut nicely, he was clean shaven… fuck. Fuck. Hobbie felt the flush of interest but quickly pushed it down. Janson was his subordinate, he was some dude Hobbie had just fucking met, and fuck he was hot. Shit. He didn't even know if Janson were of that persuasion. Hobbie, you fucking moron. "Hey, Janson," Hobbie said, grabbing his attention. "You look like you're going to be deep in pussy if we're not careful." </p>
<p>Janson chuckled. Dammit, now that his face was visible, he was unreasonably cute. He had <em>dimples</em>, high under his cheekbones, and his whole face lit up when he smiled. "Maybe once I get a shower and some clean clothes," he replied. "I could live without trying to do laundry by hand anymore."</p>
<p>Hobbie nodded. "Well, once we let the faucets run for a bit, you can at your heart's desire. I understand needing a shower that lasts for days. Also, you're going to have to forgive me. I'm not… that was a bit rude to say. I'm… I'm among civilians again and it's hard to remember how to speak like I'm not a shithead." </p>
<p>Janson barked a short laugh. The man had a whole vocabulary of laughter. "Yeah, well, haven't really been talking to much that talks back lately myself," he said with a quirk of his mouth.</p>
<p>"Well, power should be on, water too. Let's go to the store. We need some stuff then to whatever hardware store there is," Hobbie said. He wanted to run his fingers through the loose, fluffy curls on Janson's head. Fuck. </p>
<p>"Maybe hardware store first, unless we want to skip groceries for now and just have takeout for a couple days?" Janson suggested. "Or, I mean, I don't know if you were planning to stay there tonight or find a hotel or what. The beds are pretty... dusty."</p>
<p>"That would work. The plan had been to get a hotel but now I'm kinda thinking about cleaning up in two of the bedrooms and making it work. Opinions?" Hobbie asked. He wanted Janson to have a voice. It was important to give him some power. "I was thinking the store for toiletries and the like. Takeout is a good meal plan until we get shit going." </p>
<p>Janson nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets as they walked toward the car together. "So store first, toiletries, cleaning supplies, a fuckton of giant trash bags. Maybe some laundry detergent. Then Home Depot for dust masks, goggles, couldn't hurt to grab some work gloves." He frowned at the sky for a second, chewing on his lower lip. "Do we need to think about packing material for taking fragile things to Goodwill yet, or we'll worry about the teacups and dolls after we get bedrooms sleepable in?"</p>
<p>"The horrors can wait. Other than that, solid plan," Hobbie told him. He unlocked the doors and ambled to the driver's side. </p>
<p>"Okay," Janson said, sliding into the passenger seat. "Let's rock and roll, then."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"--hooooooome of the braaaaaave," Wes half-hummed quietly and contentedly to himself, toweling his hair. Normally he'd have been making the tiles rattle with his strong baritone, but... well. Hobbie. He really wanted to make a good impression.</p>
<p>People tended to want to help Wes. He'd been homeless for... a while, off and on, mostly due to sheer bad luck, sometimes due to accepting help from the wrong person. He was... not hopeful, exactly, but... well. About half the people who helped him out went on to become lifelong friends, only prevented from helping him further by distance or finance or problems of their own. The other half, he tended to flee in the dead of night, sometimes squandering large chunks of his meager hoard of cash to get far enough away from them. Figuring out which people he could trust and which he couldn't was... an ongoing process. Hobbie hadn't shown any major red flags yet, and he was a veteran, which was good; vets and people with traumatic history tended to be more understanding of Wes's little weirdnesses. On the other hand, vets and people with trauma tended to have their own shit going on, too. And just like anybody else, some of them could be terribly controlling, could project onto him... things could go sour.</p>
<p>Still. For now, Wes had electricity and running hot water. He'd keep his things close, enjoy the food and company while it lasted, and maybe... maybe it would work out.</p>
<p>Sighing, Wes tied his towel firmly around his waist. He was always this hopeful. He couldn't seem to learn not to be. He'd take everything as a good sign, until shit went irretrievably south.</p>
<p>As he walked by the toilet, he gave a light sideways kick to the bucket he kept near it, automatically checking if the bucket was full of water for the next time it was needed for flushing. It rattled empty, and he reached down and picked it up by the handle before it registered -- there was running water now. He didn't need to keep a bucket in the bathroom anymore.</p>
<p>Wes stared a little blankly at the bucket in his hand for a moment while that realization sank in. It felt kind of like putting out the fire he'd kept carefully banked for so long; these things had been habits, part of his deliberately minimalist survival here, and now they were gone, no longer needed. He could flush the toilet and run the bathtub and cook meals and... Hobbie would be <em>ordering</em> meals for at least a couple of days. And after that there would presumably be groceries. He wouldn't have to try to snare squirrels and woodchucks, which was a pain in the ass at the best of times, or figure out the exact edibility point of unripe fruit in the garden.</p>
<p>It would be a lot to adjust to. Wes sighed. Switching gears like this was always a tricky balancing act -- taking advantage of the good times, eating and resting and gathering what he could for the next bout of homelessness, without sabotaging himself by assuming the next bout would come. It would be rough. </p>
<p>Still, the hot shower had unkinked the muscles in his neck and shoulders that had been knotted up for weeks. That alone was worth a fair amount. He'd see if Hobbie continued to be generous and fair, or if accepting that hundred-dollar bill had landed him in another round of perceived debt.</p>
<p>Humming softly again, he left the bathroom and headed down the short hallway to the niche that held the washer and dryer. Hobbie had left a pile of sheets and blankets there, ready to be washed. Hobbie himself was not in evidence.</p>
<p>Wes kicked aside the pile of blankets enough to open the washer, hauled his clothes out of it in damp handfuls, and stuffed them into the dryer. He'd washed everything at once, so he'd be wearing his new bath towel until his clothes were dry.</p>
<p>Turning back to the washer, he found himself face to face with Hobbie, and jumped back slightly, stifling a yelp.</p>
<p>Hobbie looked smug. “Nice towel,” he said. “I think the mattresses are a lot newer than expected. I don’t know what she was thinking but it might not be in as bad of shape as I feared.” </p>
<p>"Oh, that's good news," Wes said. He picked up one of the sheets at random and began checking along the edges for a care label. "I'll be honest, I have no idea whether any of these things are safe to go in the washer. I'd hope they were, it seems dumb to have blankets you can't wash, but I can't guarantee they won't wind up... you know. Disintegrated, or shrunk to the size of postage stamps, or dyed bright purple, or whatever else happens to things you shouldn't wash. So it's your call."</p>
<p>“Well, we’ll see. If they do shrink, then lesson learned. If they don’t, good on Auntie. We just make do,” Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>"Good enough," Wes said. "Is this all the bedding from both bedrooms?"</p>
<p>“Yup,” Hobbie said. “It was entertaining to watch but I managed to pull it off."</p>
<p>Wes chuckled. "Sorry I missed it," he joked. He started sorting the pile of laundry, putting the sheets in the washer first, piling the blankets on top of the dryer. "This is gonna be at least a couple loads," he said. "What should we work on next? Or you wanna take a breather?"</p>
<p>"Well, I counted about ten rugs just between here and the bedrooms," Hobbie said. "Once you get some clothes on, we’ll have to take them outside and see if they’re in any shape.” </p>
<p>Wes pulled a face. "All my clothes are in there," he said, gesturing at the dryer.</p>
<p>“I am aware,” Hobbie said with a smirk. “I got sweats that might fit. I mean, maybe. Your thighs are bigger than fuck." He gave Wes an appreciative look over. "You lift, bro?"</p>
<p>"I used to," Wes said, his mouth twisting sideways in chagrin. Before... everything happened, he'd been fit, strong, muscular, not an ounce of body fat on him. Unfortunately, he'd discovered, that only worked when you got regular meals. Now, after years of unpredictable nutrition, he was no longer in peak physical shape; his muscles had wasted away somewhat, replaced by the deposits of emergency fat his body had begun to maintain. The changes in his build and metabolism had kept him alive, but it was... hard not to feel shame at his current appearance. </p>
<p>Hobbie stared at him. “Understood,” he said, losing all humor for a moment. “As for the dust, I’m half tempted to just throw open the doors and take a leaf blower to it.” </p>
<p>Wes chuckled a little at that. "Might be the best idea honestly," he said. "There's a vacuum cleaner but it's one of those old..." He gestured. "With the cloth bag that swells up when you turn it on and you have to open a zipper on the side to dump it out."</p>
<p>“So it might work or it might be fucked,” Hobbie said. “Fuck. I’m glad they didn’t but fuck I wish they’d done something to maybe keep it in better condition. I could use a bunch of bored Marines right now.” </p>
<p>"Glad they didn't?" Wes asked, raising an eyebrow. Was Hobbie implying he was glad to have Wes around, or...?</p>
<p>“Well, I wouldn’t have met you if they were nosing around. Plus it would’ve just been more of the same nonsense that I left in Boston,” Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>Wes felt a flush spread clear across his chest. "Well, I'm glad too," he said honestly. "Let's see about those sweats and then maybe a leaf blower."</p>
<p>Hobbie barked a laugh and started walking to where he had tossed his stuff. “Well, come on,” he told him. Wes started the washing machine running with the sheets and followed him.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Hobbie's sweatpants did fit Janson, but only just. They were... very flattering. Hobbie tried not to stare too hard at the man's ass and thighs, but <em>damn.</em> And his broad, shirtless, muscular chest and back...</p>
<p>Hobbie shook his head and carted another one of the small throw rugs outside. The entire house was infested with throw rugs of all sizes and shapes and conditions. Some were twice as long as Hobbie was tall and required both of them to carry, Janson navigating backwards, Hobbie carefully shuffling along with his cane. Some were barely larger than bathmats. Some were moth-eaten or mouse-eaten or bug-ridden or damp. They'd thrown quite a few away already. The ones that might be in okay condition were draped over every available tree limb and retaining wall and piece of outdoor furniture.</p>
<p>He could handle this. Fuck it, he was a gay Marine captain. He was <em>used</em> to seeing extremely fit men in various states of undress. It was just... well, he could deal with it, that was all. It would be a total asshole move to do otherwise. What could he do, tell Janson 'sorry, you can't stay here after all, you're hot and it's distracting'? That would be a <em>great</em> way to get knifed. He'd even deserve it.</p>
<p>He could hear Janson singing inside. "--and the Na-avy ever look on Heaven's scenes, they will find the streets are gua-arded by United States Marines!"</p>
<p>No, he couldn't kick Janson out. He didn't think the man was even doing it to suck up to him. Janson had been singing ever since they got back, quietly at first, now with a bit more confidence. There had been Christmas carols and show tunes and folk songs and at least three languages Hobbie didn't know, which was pretty impressive because Hobbie could recognize a whole bunch of languages himself, including Arabic and Dari Persian. Based on the amount of Latin and hymns to the Virgin Mary, Hobbie felt pretty confident putting together a guess that Janson had been raised Catholic, though whether he still subscribed to a religion was anybody's guess. (Latin Christmas carols in July in Janson's thick Texas accent were... an experience.)</p>
<p>Hobbie turned, meaning to go back in and look for another rug small enough for him to handle by himself, or perhaps make a start on the antimacassars. Janson ambled out onto the patio, carrying a rolled-up rug longer than himself over one shoulder, still shirtless, still singing, now something about letting the sun shine in, which was... apropos. When he saw Hobbie, he stopped singing.</p>
<p>"Hey, Hobbie," he said, looking a little shy as he unrolled the rug over another tree branch. "Sorry about that."</p>
<p>“Do what you need to do, dude,” Hobbie told him. “I was enjoying your rendition of Queen of the May.” </p>
<p>Janson chuckled awkwardly and hummed the first couple of bars again. <em>O Mary, we crown thee...</em> "Didn't really expect you to know that one in particular," he said, giving Hobbie another appraising look. "Let me guess. Boston Catholic?"</p>
<p>“Good catch, not that it was difficult,” Hobbie told him. “I don’t really go to Mass other than for my mother to show off but I’d be willing if you have need.” </p>
<p>Janson's mouth did that <em>thing</em>, a little twist that indicated there was a long and painful story behind a short answer. "Appreciate the offer," he said tightly. "But yeah, no need. But thanks."</p>
<p>“Of course,” Hobbie told him. “Plus I’m gay and closeted so you know, if that’s going to be a thing, we should get that done now.” </p>
<p>There, much better, that was the grin again. "Not terribly closeted," Janson said, raising an eyebrow cheerfully, "if you're telling me and we just met."</p>
<p>“I’m trying something new. I’m not in Boston anymore…” Hobbie told him. “I don’t have to hit another bingo space of bullshit.” </p>
<p>Janson nodded. "Closeted in Boston but not out here?" he said. "Well, I can't judge. I'm..." He shrugged one broad shoulder. <em>Damn</em>, that did interesting things to his muscles. "It's complicated. But I'm definitely not straight."</p>
<p>“Neat,” Hobbie told him. “So, what’s our situation?”</p>
<p>"On rugs?" Janson said, looking around. "I think we could break out the garden hose. We've pretty much covered every available surface. This is gonna be a lot of work if we keep even a quarter of the rugs we haul out of here." He gave Hobbie a mischievous look. "You got swim trunks or anything? I'd hate for you to get soaked while you're still fully dressed. Blue jeans take forever to dry."</p>
<p>“I may decline for now,” Hobbie told him. “With everything so dirty, drying my prosthetics off becomes a hassle. But once everything is cleaned up… water fights can happen.” </p>
<p>Janson's round face lit up. "I'll look forward to it," he said. "You want to break out the leaf blower and start tackling some of the dust inside, then? So you don't get wet? Or you can have the hose and I'll just... stay out of the way so you don't get sopping wet."</p>
<p>“Leaf blower,” Hobbie told him. “I’ll get the house less dusty, I hope. Then we can start scrubbing.” </p>
<p>"Hell yeah," Janson said, and darted off around the corner of the house, presumably to go hook up the garden hose. Hobbie watched him go. He'd been wishing for a detachment of bored Marines, but honestly Janson might have nearly as much energy.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>If Janson had been singing, Hobbie wouldn't have walked in on him.</p>
<p>Not that the man was doing anything especially embarrassing. Well, not in the usual sense. But Hobbie was carrying another armful of throw rugs out of the house -- there had to be at least a hundred, all told -- and he happened to turn down the hallway that led past the laundry alcove.</p>
<p>For a second, he wasn't sure what sort of poltergeist he was seeing. Then the image resolved itself into Janson, ecstatically hugging an armful of clean laundry, with a pair of... jeans? They had to be jeans... draped over his head as if he'd tried to burrow into them headfirst.</p>
<p>Hobbie turned tactfully down another hallway before Janson noticed him standing there. It was good to know that even the little things Hobbie could offer him, cleanliness and warmth and takeout pizza, were bringing Janson such joy. And it was... kind of adorable to see him so blissfully enjoying them. Better not to embarrass him by letting him know he'd been observed.</p>
<p>As he threaded his way through the house with his armful of rugs, Hobbie found himself smiling.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Wes was really, really glad that Hobbie didn't seem to be taking his singing personally. Things could very easily have gotten awkward, especially since Wes kept returning to the sunshine song. It just came so naturally, throwing open windows and blinds and doors, to belt out "Let the sun shine in! Face it with a grin!", giving voice to the glee that filled him at how well everything was going today, and then of course you couldn't just <em>stop</em> a song halfway, but the next line was "Smilers never lose and frowners never win", and well... Hobbie definitely had resting bitch face. But he didn't seem to mind, or at least he kept saying it was fine when Wes awkwardly bumped into him and stopped singing, so... well. All Wes could do was keep trying to do his best and hoping everything worked out well.</p>
<p>He opened up another window and brushed dead ladybugs off the sill. "Open up your heart and let the suuuun... shiiiiiiine... innnnnnn!"</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>"Welp, I think we made a good start," Janson said, carefully winding noodles around his chopsticks. "Two bedrooms, clean enough to sleep in without sneezing our faces off. Bunch of rugs hosed down and drying outside. Whole lot of laundry done. And at least a bushel or two of dust removed from the premises."</p>
<p>“Fuck, I hope so,” Hobbie said. The leaf blower had been a decent idea. But it did leave them with the problem of a lot of the dust just being stirred up and landing back down in the same places. Maybe it would be easier though? </p>
<p>"Tomorrow, we mop," Janson said. "That'll get a lot more of the dust cleared out. I figure once we can breathe, sleep, and cook, we start going room by room and throw a bunch of shit out, take it to Goodwill, see what we've got." He gave Hobbie a suddenly shy look. "I mean, if that's okay?"</p>
<p>“I really don’t care,” Hobbie told him. “I told you. This isn’t my wheelhouse. If that’s the best approach, that’s the best approach.”</p>
<p>Janson grimaced a little. "Yeah, but it's your <em>house</em> house," he said. "I'm... really not a professional. At all. I just happen to... be a dumbass with some experience, that's it. I don't want to take over and go making all the decisions." He looked extremely awkward. </p>
<p>Hobbie could understand. Maybe twelve hours ago, Janson had been facing him with a knife, fully expecting to be thrown out of the house. Now he was essentially being placed in charge of the renovations. It was a big change. “Sure. But I don’t know anything about this. You know the house, you know what needs to be done. So just do it. If I hate it, then I’ll just make you redo it.” </p>
<p>Janson chuckled slightly at that. "I can work with that, as long as we're cleaning throw rugs and things. Once we're tossing shit out, I'm going to be asking you for feedback a lot more, at least until I get a feel for how you work. That okay?"</p>
<p>“Sounds good to me,” Hobbie said. “But I can almost guarantee that it’ll be mostly toss it out.” </p>
<p>"Except for the creepy dolls, right?" Janson joked.</p>
<p>“I want those for target practice,” Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>Janson hooted a cheerful laugh. "I'll join you. Set up a range out back, maybe?"</p>
<p>“Once we know what all needs to be remodeled. Then we’ll start building things.” </p>
<p>Janson lit up, even more. "This is gonna be <em>fun</em>." He slurped noodles into his mouth. "So now you've kinda gotten a look at the place in daylight, you got any thoughts on what kind of a look you're going for? Or you figure wait and see what we've got left to work with after we toss out all the crap?"</p>
<p>“Probably so. Like, she was a nice lady I’m sure, but she was also weird as fuck all. I don’t want to spend all my money on this but once we figure out what’s good, we’ll decide on looks.” </p>
<p>"Works for me," Janson said. "So in addition to trash and Goodwill, we're gonna want a place to put nice stuff we find that we want to keep and use in decorating. I can think of at least one or two things around here that I think are pretty nifty. Course, I don't really know your taste yet, but still." He ate another mouthful of noodles thoughtfully. "And I mean, she was definitely weird just based on all the shit she kept around here, but..." He dimpled shyly at Hobbie for a second. "I mean, she obviously liked you. So she had good taste in at least one thing." He blushed furiously and looked down as if his noodles had suddenly become very important.</p>
<p>“One thing,” Hobbie said dryly. “More like she was weird and so am I,” he said with a sarcastic look. </p>
<p>Janson gave him a deadpan look right back. "Are you saying I'm not?" he asked mock-suspiciously.</p>
<p>“Nope. Not saying that at all,” Hobbie told him. “We’re all fucking weirdos.” </p>
<p>"I think we can agree on that," Janson said with a grin, seeming to relax slightly. "So. Summer or winter?"</p>
<p>"Neither,” Hobbie told him. “Spring.” </p>
<p>Janson snickered at that. "I'm fall, you're spring. Why? If I can ask."</p>
<p>“I was born in spring. It’s not too hot, not too cold, you don’t have the leafers. It’s nice. I mean, pollen is a bitch but I like it.” </p>
<p>"Pollen is such a bitch," Janson agreed. "I'd rather have dead leaves than pollen. Sushi or steak?"</p>
<p>“You say that, but you’ve never dealt with leafers. These assholes come to look at dead leaves each fucking year. It’s leaves. But I like Sushi,” Hobbie told him. “Won’t say no to a good steak but sushi is baller.” </p>
<p>"Okay, I'll grant you, pollen never drew tourists anywhere," Janson said, grinning. "But I was born in fall, so I'm prejudiced. Blonde or brunette?"</p>
<p>“Brunette,” Hobbie said. </p>
<p>Janson gave him a teasingly flirtatious look. "I bet you're just saying that to make me feel cute," he teased.</p>
<p>“Maybe so,” Hobbie told him. “You look cute, might as well feel it.” </p>
<p>Janson smirked, blushed, lost the smirk. He shut his eyes for a moment, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Look, that was my bad, okay?" he said awkwardly. "I shouldn't have started it. If..." He gulped. "If circumstances were otherwise, I would definitely be interested in continuing this conversation. But right now..." He shrugged and looked up at Hobbie with the wary unease of a trapped animal in his dark eyes.</p>
<p>Shit. <em>Shit.</em> The flirting came so naturally, their interactions felt so friendly already, that Hobbie had almost managed to forget. Janson was his employee, one of his men, and was dependent on him for food and housing. There were certain ethical and professional boundaries. “Not your bad. Mine,” Hobbie told him. “You’re a good guy but you’re… the civilian equivalent to a Lance Corporal.” </p>
<p>Janson nodded, seeming relieved that Hobbie understood. "There's chain of command shit. Maybe some other time. When -- when I have like. A job. Somewhere else." He shrugged awkwardly. "Or, you know, we can just forget this conversation ever happened."</p>
<p>“I’d rather put a pause on it,” Hobbie told him. “But only if you’re cool with that.” </p>
<p>Janson reached up to tug at his dark hair, found that most of it was gone, and ran his hand over his scalp instead. "I don't want to be expecting anything to happen," he admitted bluntly. "Can we just... can we call it friends for now, and then if anything happens later, we'll deal with it then?"</p>
<p>“That was the idea,” Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>"Okay," Janson said. "Then we're on the same page." He still looked a little tense, but no longer had the expression of a rabbit about to flee. "Sorry about that."</p>
<p>“Not the worst convo I’ve had,” Hobbie told him with a grin.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I'll bet you've got some stories," Janson said wryly. "Your family sounds like a piece of work, just from what little you've said. Bingo card of bullshit and all." He grinned.</p>
<p>“Well, you know, I’m a Marine, I’m a disabled vet… I’m a senate hopeful’s fucking jerk off fantasy of a brother,” Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>Janson nodded. "I thought it might be those Klivians but I didn't want to assume. So you didn't want to be out as gay too, because that's just one more fucking tearjerker struggle you're nobly bearing up under?" he asked wryly.</p>
<p>“Ding ding ding,” Hobbie told him. “I’m so fucking strong for struggling so bravely,” he said in a saccharine sweet voice. </p>
<p>Janson grimaced sympathetically. "I'm sorry your brother's a turd in a politician suit," he said cheerfully. "You mentioned going to Mass to please your mom? Is the whole family kind of like that?"</p>
<p>“Absolutely,” Hobbie said, rolling his eyes. “It’s all about appearance. I’m the fuck up that didn’t use my family connections to get a good spot in the Pentagon.” </p>
<p>"So Great-Aunt Adelia left you this place because you're the weirdo like her who doesn't fit in with the Boston political side of the family?" Janson guessed.</p>
<p>"From what I can tell," Hobbie said. "Probably. She was interesting. I guess she knew what a mouthy asshole I was before I did." </p>
<p>Janson snickered. “Like I said. Good taste.” He dimpled at Hobbie, then seeming to realize he was skating perilously close to flirting again, he kept talking. “Course, I’m already judging the rest of your family for going to Mass to be seen doing it. Cause when I was a Catholic, I took it... really really seriously.” He rolled his eyes a little. Hobbie got the sense he was trying to mock himself for having had such strong religious feelings, but that it wasn’t quite working. “Poor Father Don,” he continued with a wry chuckle. “He didn’t quite laugh in my face when I decided I needed emergency confession after the first time I ever jerked off, but it was a near thing.” Janson flushed hotly, seeming to realize where his nervous babbling had ended up. “Sorry, was that awkward?”</p>
<p>"Not at all," Hobbie said. "That's the way it can be. They teach us that everything that we do as humans is wrong then they wonder why we're all fucked up." </p>
<p>Janson blinked at Hobbie a couple times, considering. Hobbie got the impression Janson hadn't expected him to say anything remotely like that. "Huh," he said finally. There was a silence, Janson frowning thoughtfully.</p>
<p>Hobbie shrugged and ate his food, giving him some room. </p>
<p>“Huh,” Janson said again, sounding like he was filing away whatever thoughts he’d been having. “So! New topic. How do you feel about sports?”</p>
<p>"I like hockey. It's good. The Bruins are wicked good. My brother is big into the Patriots but they annoy me. They're cheating a-holes and Brady is a dicksore."</p>
<p>Janson snickered. "I'll take your word for it," he said. "Me, I like soccer. Not any particular team, just..." He gestured vaguely, frowning a bit. "As an art. I used to be good. I like seeing a good save or goal or pass, knowing the skill that goes into it. The women's USA soccer team is really good. They fucking deserve better treatment. And better pay."</p>
<p>"Agreed," Hobbie told him. "I got into rugby a bit. I like the All Blacks in New Zealand." </p>
<p>"Pretty much all I know about rugby is it's a sport," Janson said, grinning. "Mostly New Zealand and like Australia, right?"</p>
<p>Hobbie looked amused. "Quite a bit more than that. It's just not huge here. So what else do you like?" </p>
<p>“As far as sports?” Janson shrugged. “Soccer’s really my thing. I can’t play anymore. My knees and feet started crapping out on me.” He grimaced. “I’m okay at baseball. Pitcher mostly. I don’t really enjoy it. Trying to <em>not</em> hit a target, it feels weird. And I don’t run.”</p>
<p>"I meant in general. But good to know if I ever decide to join a baseball team," Hobbie said dryly. </p>
<p>Janson snorted cheerfully. “In general? I like <em>everything</em>. Except a few things I hate. Can’t stand centipedes. But I like...” He waved his hands expansively. “I like knowing things. Experiencing things. I like people, and animals, and most plants, and rocks, and space. I like interesting food in theory.” He tilted his head and frowned a bit. “In practice I tend to be like ‘ew no this sushi is squishy’. It’s a thing. I have strong feelings about texture. Oh, I like bright colors. All the bright colors. You might not want to let me help pick out paint for this place.”</p>
<p>"I'll cede you control over the kitchen and parlors. We can go not bright on bedrooms," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>“Probably sensible,” Janson said, chuckling. “So what about you? What do you like in general?”</p>
<p>Hobbie leaned back. "I actually like interesting food," he teased. "All sorts of things I suppose. Action movies, driving, reading books… computers. I'm still figuring out who I am now." </p>
<p>Janson nodded. “I know that feeling,” he said. “I guess I’m pretty much still figuring out a lot of that for me too. I’ll be interested to see where we end up?”</p>
<p>"Deal," Hobbie told him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For a couple of weeks Janson was a fount of boundless energy, carrying rugs and furniture, singing constantly, cooking and eating enormous amounts of food whenever Hobbie didn't order takeout. Then one morning, he didn't come to breakfast, and Hobbie couldn't hear him singing anywhere. He waited for awhile then stood, going to Wes's room. Hobbie knocked and waited for an answer. There was none. He frowned and tried the knob. The last thing he wanted to do was invade Wes's privacy but he was very concerned. "Wes?" He opened the door. </p>
<p>The pile of blankets on the bed jerked in startlement and Wes sat up, flailing as if in self-defense. "Who's there?" he snapped.</p>
<p>"Hobbie," he said clearly. "Are you alright?" </p>
<p>Wes flopped back, panting heavily. "No," he said. "I'm really, really not."</p>
<p>"What do you need me to do?" Hobbie asked immediately. </p>
<p>"Could I... please get some food?" Wes asked. "Something light. I hate to... make you run around but... I'm really exhausted. I just about... made it back from the... bathroom earlier." He had to stop and catch his breath between phrases.</p>
<p>"It's no trouble. I'll get you some fruit, some crackers and some protein," he said. "Do you want me to knock? Or just drop it off?" </p>
<p>"For now you can just come in," Wes said. "Please. I'll let you know... when I'm better. If I'm better." He looked bothered. "You don't need to... pay me when I'm like this. But I'd... really appre..." He had to stop and pant for a minute, pressing one hand to his chest. "...appreciate staying here."</p>
<p>"Do you want to go to the hospital?" Hobbie asked, watching him. "You don't look good." </p>
<p>Wes shook his head. "No insurance. 'Sides, they can't help. Just need rest." He leaned back and breathed for a couple of moments. "I'll be honest, Hobbie. Last time I felt like this, I was laid out for a year. I'm not asking you to support me for that long. I'm hoping it won't be as bad but..." His mouth twisted, and his voice trailed off. "I wanted you to know."</p>
<p>"We can figure it out. You won't be alone with this. This sounds really serious," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>Wes half shrugged. "Been under... lot of stress. Body lets go, all at once." He looked away shyly. "When I feel safe."</p>
<p>Hobbie frowned worriedly. "If you're sure," he hedged. "Try to eat first though," Hobbie said and started heading towards the kitchen. He put together a plate of crackers, cheese, salami and a large cup of grapes then brought it back. He entered the room and brought it to him. "Eat. Then rest." </p>
<p>"Thanks," Wes said. "I swear, I'll make it up to you. I'm not just... imposing on you cause I'm lazy, I promise."</p>
<p>"Of course not," Hobbie told him. "Just rest, you're more important than all this." </p>
<p>Wes nodded. "Any chance of borrowing a sweatshirt or something? My thermoregulation is kaput."</p>
<p>Hobbie nodded and walked out of the room, going to grab a hoodie and some bottles of cold water. He returned and handed them to him. "Drink that too. Do you want some ambien?" </p>
<p>Wes shrugged. "Never tried it. No idea how I'll react." He looked thoughtful. "Nah, probably not now. Thanks. Don't want to fuck myself up worse'n I am."</p>
<p>"I get real soft then sleep two days. It's awesome," Hobbie told him. "But ok. Let me know when you wake up." </p>
<p>"Thanks," Wes said around a mouthful of salami.</p>
<p>Hobbie left him to it and went to get busy. </p>
<p>A few hours later, his phone buzzed. <em>can i get some lunch im rly sorry</em></p>
<p>Hobbie rolled his eyes. <em>What do you want?</em></p>
<p>
  <em>sandwich n juice?</em>
</p>
<p><em>On the way. </em>Hobbie went to the kitchen, washed his hands and fixed a turkey sandwich with apple juice. He took it to Wes and gave it to him. "I got you apple because it burns slower than orange juice. Lasts longer in the system." </p>
<p>"Good to know," Wes said, taking a sip. "Thanks. I promise I won't keep running you around like this any longer than I absolutely have to."</p>
<p>"I don't really mind. Quit being sorry. You need rest, so rest. We're not at war or anything. We don't have a schedule," Hobbie told him, flicking Wes's wrist.</p>
<p>"Yeah, but I'm not being... useful like this," Wes said. "People get sick of me when I'm not contributing." He looked embarrassed.</p>
<p>"Well, they suck," Hobbie told him. "You don't have to be useful." </p>
<p>Wes looked stubborn. "We'll see how long that lasts."</p>
<p>Hobbie raised an eyebrow. "Sure. I'm going to get back to it then." </p>
<p>"Sorry," Wes said. "I don't mean to doubt you. I just... it's been a while."</p>
<p>"It's ok. You don't know me that well," Hobbie told him. "Just rest." </p>
<p>"See you later," Wes said.</p>
<p>Hobbie left him to it and went back to the work he could do. He didn't really blame Wes for not trusting him. It was a weird situation. </p>
<p>Wes came down for supper, though he yawned constantly and didn't put away nearly as much food as usual, only nibbling on some bread and canned soup. "Thanks for putting up with me," he told Hobbie.</p>
<p>"I should say the same," Hobbie told him. "You're the one driving the project." </p>
<p>"Not today I wasn't," Wes said.</p>
<p>"So?" Hobbie asked. "I got that thing done that you asked me to do so you were." </p>
<p>Wes chuckled a little. "I'll try to be better tomorrow," he said.</p>
<p>"Take your time." </p>
<p>Wes nodded and kept eating, slowly but steadily. </p>
<p>"I'm thinking about calling my friend. He's a general contractor around this area. He can get us started on the shit we couldn't handle," Hobbie told him. "You can rest, he can get shit done. Will a lot of building disturb you?" </p>
<p>Wes's jaw went a bit stubborn, but all he said was, "Not especially. What, you're outsourcing my job already?" There was a twinkle in his eyes, but they were tight and guarded around the corners.</p>
<p>"No. I figured you could rest and they'd just do your ideas. Plus mine. It's the stuff we can't possibly do alone. You're fantastic but you need help."</p>
<p>Wes sighed. "I guess you're right."</p>
<p>"I'm a cripple, man. I can't do this shit," Hobbie told him. "I need help." </p>
<p>Wes's mouth twitched again. "I guess. It's probably dumb of me to be jealous of a guy I haven't even met. But I -- I don't want you to feel like I'm not earning my keep."</p>
<p>"Who said you weren't? You need to rest. Rest. You'll get better and then you can boss Tycho and his people around." </p>
<p>Wes chuckled. "Fine. Do I get paid sick leave on this job?" he teased. "I'm trying to save up for a smartphone so I can play my music and stop bothering you."</p>
<p>Hobbie shrugged. "Sure. I'd have a union too but there's only me and you so if you strike, I'm fucked." </p>
<p>That brought a cackle from Wes. "You're a great boss," he said. "I don't think I'd need to strike."</p>
<p>"Well, if conditions start sucking, let me know," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>"You bet I will," Wes joked. "Thanks, Hobbs."</p>
<p>"Sure," Hobbie said. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Hobbie pulled out his phone the next morning. He pulled up his contacts. "Bitch better not have changed his fucking number," he said, pressing the green phone icon. </p>
<p>"Celchu General Contracting," said a familiar voice on the other end of the phone.</p>
<p>Hobbie gasped dramatically. "You don't have my number memorized, Captain Celchu? What about what we shared? I should have known you only loved me for the sex." </p>
<p>Tycho snorted. "I might have if we'd had any," he said. "How are you doing, Hobbie? I haven't heard from you since I got back practically."</p>
<p>"Save a humvee, ride a Marine?" Hobbie teased him. "I'm better. It sucked for awhile but you know that more than anyone. You'll never guess where I am." </p>
<p>"Here?" Tycho asked dryly. "Oh crap. It's that giant fucking house outside of town, isn't it? The falling-down one. That's yours?"</p>
<p>Hobbie cackled. "It is. It was my great aunt's and she left it to me. But I was in the desert so…" </p>
<p>"So now you're back and decided to get out of Boston," Tycho said. "Well, I'll bring the crew over and we'll have a look. You just get here?"</p>
<p>"Affirmative," Hobbie told him. "Well, sorta. Been here two weeks. I have someone to do the smaller shit but he got sick so I was thinking that you owe me for that time in TJ and I'd put you to work."</p>
<p>"Aww, you called someone else besides me first?" Tycho asked. "I'm hurt, Hobbie. I thought what we had was special."</p>
<p>"It was. Baby, believe me, I love no one more than you," Hobbie said. "He's not… he's not exactly a pro." He hesitated. "I had a gut feeling about him and he needed help. Tych, he was squatting here. He wasn't a crackhead, just someone who needed help. So I put him to work. But he's sick so. I need you. You were going to be my first call as soon as we finished the small shit." </p>
<p>There was a moment of silence on the other end of the call. "You've gone soft," Tycho said finally. "Hobbie Klivian, the Ice Prince himself. I never thought I'd see the day."</p>
<p>"Fucking ten-ply," Hobbie admitted. "I'm still that motherfucker but… he reminds me of Biggs." </p>
<p>Tycho sighed. "Yeah," he said. "Well, I just hope it works out okay for you. You said he got sick?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. He refused to go to a hospital. Not that I blame him but. He says it's just exhaustion. I'm hoping so but if it gets worse, I'm going to take measures," Hobbie said. </p>
<p>"That sounds more like the Hobbie I know and love," Tycho said. "When do you want us out there?"</p>
<p>"Tomorrow. Today. When are you free?" Hobbie asked. </p>
<p>"Frankly," Tycho said with a long sigh, "I'm swamped. But for you, buddy, I'll make time. I'll come out later today, maybe bring a couple of the crew?"</p>
<p>"Are you sure?" Hobbie asked. "I'll make it worth it but if you can't, I'll understand. We can get beers and start hanging again." </p>
<p>"I'll see how much work the house needs, we can have some beers, I'll meet your boytoy and get you an estimate," Tycho said. "Let's worry about anything else later."</p>
<p>"Tycho, I love you like I love hookers and blackjack," Hobbie told him gratefully. "He's not… he's not a boytoy though. He's like a fucking Lance Corporal." </p>
<p>"Understood," Tycho said. "Well, if he's up to meeting people, I'd like to meet him anyway."</p>
<p>"I want you to. You're a good judge of character," Hobbie said. "I need someone on my six." </p>
<p>"Well, I appreciate the compliment," Tycho said. "I'll be around in an hour or two then. I have some shit to get done first."</p>
<p>"You better work, bitch," Hobbie teased him. "See you." </p>
<p>"See you later, asshole," Tycho joked back.</p>
<p>Hobbie hung up the phone, feeling better. He hadn't realized just how much he missed Tycho. His dumbass isolationist thinking had fucked him once. Maybe he shouldn't push people away anymore. That lost him Caleb. Hobbie turned and headed into the house to tell Wes.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Tycho pulled his truck to a stop outside Hobbie's new home. He scanned the area, making some guesses as to the conditions outside. He'd have to shuffle some people around, maybe reach out to others in order to add this to his homes. He might have to pass on the newest offer he had gotten. It took him a few to find the entrance. He knocked loudly. </p>
<p>A short, chunky, young-looking man opened the door. He looked Tycho up and down. "You must be the contractor."</p>
<p>Tycho inwardly smirked. Territorial already? "Tycho Celchu. I'm also Hobbie's friend," he said, offering his hand. </p>
<p>The young man shook Tycho's hand firmly. "Wes Janson. I've been helping Hobbie around the house."</p>
<p>"Good. I'm glad to be working with you," Tycho said. "Where's Hobbs?" </p>
<p>"Out back," Janson said. "He told me to show you around. Get to know each other, discuss what we've been planning with the house."</p>
<p>"Sounds good," Tycho said, shifting into client mode. "The outside needs a lot of work. How does the inside look?" </p>
<p>"Not falling apart as much," Janson said. "We're figuring to make the stairs and everything wheelchair accessible though, so there might be a bunch of work with loadbearing walls and stuff. We already cleared out a lot of the clutter and the furniture Hobbie didn't want. He can show you photos of the creepy doll room though."</p>
<p> Tycho nodded. "I know someone who will love doing that. Oh fuck. Are we talking haunted creepy or just creepy?" </p>
<p>Janson tilted his head. "Kinda borderline? No blood or serial killer maps, but it was pretty hellacious in the dark. Not as bad with the lights on."</p>
<p>Tycho shuddered. "What is it with creepy collections and older homes?" </p>
<p>"My theory is," Janson expounded cheerfully, "that when you get over about seventy, you're close enough to death that you don't notice when you accidentally breach the veil. That or you start actively working towards it."</p>
<p>"Makes as much sense as anything else I've heard. So, what's the general plan?" Janson launched into a well thought out plan. Tycho was pretty impressed. No wonder Hobbs thought of him as a Lance Corporal. </p>
<p>"Anyway, that was kind of what we were thinking," Janson finished up. "How's it sound to a professional?"</p>
<p>"You're sure you've never done this before? Like, there's a few things that might need tweaking but, it's solid," Tycho told him. </p>
<p>Janson huffed a bitter little laugh. "I never said I hadn't done it before. Just never in a context where I got paid."</p>
<p>"Well, there you go. Get that money," Tycho told him. "I think it'll be good to work with you." </p>
<p>"Here's hoping," Janson said.</p>
<p>"We better let Hobbie know that we haven't killed each other," Tycho said with a grin. </p>
<p>"Yet," Janson said, grinning back.</p>
<p>Tycho laughed. "Well, we'll see how it goes." They went into the backyard where Hobbie was standing. He turned towards them, looking like a smug bastard. </p>
<p>“I see you’re both in one piece,” Hobbie said. </p>
<p>Tycho rolled his eyes and walked up to him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Hey, fuckface.” </p>
<p>“Hey yourself,” Hobbie told him, hugging him tight. He pulled away. “So, what’s the verdict?”</p>
<p>"I'll rearrange our schedule and bring some of the crew over in a day or two," Tycho said. "I have this one..." He waved his hands a bit. "Giant amazon of destruction. She is going to <em>love</em> the demolition work we need to do to make this place wheelchair accessible. The only tricky part will be mapping out the loadbearing walls before we let her in here with a sledgehammer, so that she doesn't bring the entire place crashing down around our ears. Unless that's what you want, but Wes sounded like you might want the basic structure left intact."</p>
<p>“I would preferably have a house. I like sleeping under a roof. It’s a novel thing for me still,” he teased. “Warn me when you come so I can make sure I’m dressed and have my limbs on.” </p>
<p>"Will do," Tycho said. "It'd probably be good if I could get into the attic today and see which way the rafters run, but I'll want to do a little more poking around before letting Plourr at the staircases. Wes said you were still pondering whether to do a stair-lift or some kind of ramps or mostly just use the first floor? He got onto a slight tangent about fire poles," he said, glancing at Wes, who grinned unrepentantly.</p>
<p>Hobbie rolled his eyes. “Fun in theory, bad in practice, Janson,” he told him. “I kind of want ramps but I also know that it’s pretty steep. I’m willing to hear both angles.” </p>
<p>"Well, so in order to get your wheelchair up a ramp, the recommended steepness is about fifteen degrees," Tycho said. "Very gentle. The absolute maximum is thirty degrees. In order to get up to the second floor, you'd need a ramp... give me a second, I didn't run the math earlier, just eyeballed it." He sat down at the table and doodled numbers on a napkin for a minute, punching them into his phone's calculator at intervals. "So three times eight-point-five..." He kept muttering for another few moments. "Damn. Square roots. Twenty-seven feet? Maybe?" Tycho ran a hand through his blond hair. "Point is, you'd need a ramp that ran approximately the whole length of the house."</p>
<p>"So I had this idea," Wes chirped, looking even more unrepentant.</p>
<p>Tycho sighed deeply. "He had this idea. He says it's 'ridicu-mazing'. I agree that it's ridiculous, but I can't actually find fault with it, other than it might look idiotic. Here's the idea: we replace part of the veranda, one or two sides of the building's worth, with a ramp around the outside."</p>
<p>"Like a spiral staircase for your wheelchair," Wes said. </p>
<p>Tycho sighed again. "Obviously we enclose it so you don't have to deal with the weather every day. But we could put windows in it or not, as you prefer. And unlike a motorized lift, you're not trapped if the power goes out."</p>
<p>“It sounds really neat. But may we need to sketch it out so I can see what we’re meaning?” Hobbie asked. </p>
<p>"Sure," Tycho said. On a fresh napkin, he sketched a quick view of the house as it was now. "House, veranda." Next to it, another sketch. "Here's Wes's idea." It was the same house that took shape under his pencil, but the veranda that encompassed it was skewed, twining upward around the house like the cursed offspring of a veranda and a bay window. "I don't know how much you want to lean in to the haunted house aspect, but it does make it look kind of haunted, I'm afraid. It's the off-square aspect of the whole thing. We could square it up visually from the outside if you really hate that part."</p>
<p>Hobbie studied the drawing and glanced at the house. "Well. I actually don't mind the off-square aspect? But if it'll make it harder or like destroy the house, we can square it up." </p>
<p>"I wouldn't suggest something that would destroy the house," Tycho assured him. "And it shouldn't make it significantly harder. If you like that aspect of the design, we can definitely keep it."</p>
<p>"Well. I know that. I just… I have no idea about this," Hobbie admitted. "I liked base housing after all." </p>
<p>"That's what I'm here for," Wes teased. "Bring a civilian perspective."</p>
<p>Hobbie nodded, accepting the point. "We have an idea then. So, while we're doing this, do we need to find somewhere else to be?" </p>
<p>Tycho shrugged. "Not really. Maybe for one night, depending on where we wind up putting the doorway into the ramp. If any of the interior remodeling needs you somewhere else, I'll warn you well in advance."</p>
<p>"Ok. We'll figure it out," Hobbie told him. "I'm glad you're doing this," he said, kissing Tycho's cheek. </p>
<p>"I'm glad you finally called me," Tycho teased. "Janson's great, but this is a lot of work for one and a half men."</p>
<p>Hobbie cackled. "I mean, my cock is big enough to make up for my limbs." </p>
<p>"If you insist," Tycho agreed. </p>
<p>Janson laughed, a big joyous laugh. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Hobbie," he teased.</p>
<p>Hobbie grinned. "Who said I can't promise it?" </p>
<p>Janson blushed and looked away.</p>
<p>"Poor little civilian can't keep up with Uncle Sam's finest," Tycho joked, patting Wes's shoulder in mock comfort. "Don't worry, Hobbs. I'll always be here to mock your dick and other assorted parts as often as you need me to."</p>
<p>"You didn't say that when you were choking on it a few years ago," Hobbie told him, blowing him a kiss. </p>
<p>"If you two need to get a room, I can leave," Janson offered with stiffly awkward dignity. He was blushing bright red and shifting awkwardly in his chair.</p>
<p>Tycho rolled his eyes. "That won't be necessary. I wouldn't suck your cock if you paid me, Hobbs. Especially since you haven't washed it." </p>
<p>"Your loss, bitch," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>Janson snickered. "You only suck nice clean shiny cocks, Celchu?"</p>
<p>"I have some class. Buy me dinner first and wash it, then we'll talk." Tycho leered at Janson. </p>
<p>Janson snorted. "The pinnacle of classiness, that's you, obviously."</p>
<p>Tycho grinned. "This is going to be fun. I need to head out. But we'll get together soon."</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>In a few days, when Tycho came back, he brought two of his best workers with him. Plourr Ilo was a big, butch woman of amazonian stature who specialized in demolition, and Wedge Antilles was a tiny ex-Air-Force pilot with an eye for logistics.</p>
<p>Janson answered the door again, and grinned when he saw Tycho. "Hi, everybody!" he said. "Come on in. I'll get Hobbie."</p>
<p>"Hi," Wedge said awkwardly. Plourr huffed a laugh and went inside. </p>
<p>"Don't tell me his Highness decided to sleep in," Tycho said. Wedge snorted. </p>
<p>Before long Wes returned with Hobbie. "So, who is everybody?" he asked. "Or do you all know each other and I'm the only one left out?"</p>
<p>"I only know Tycho," Hobbie told him. "I'm Hobbie, this is my disaster of a house," he said with a grin. </p>
<p>"I'm Wedge," the slight man introduced himself. "I'll be the foreman of my crews and work closely with everyone." </p>
<p>"Plourr," the giant woman said with a hint of an accent. </p>
<p>"And I'm Wes, I've been helping Hobbie clean the place out," Wes said. "I can help with whatever."</p>
<p>"Trust me, we'll get you working," Tycho told him. "Now, do you want to go over the idea that you had? These two will be able to say what it'll take." </p>
<p>"Let's go into the kitchen," Wes said. "There's more space and I wrote some stuff down."</p>
<p>Hobbie limped along when they started moving to the kitchen. Tycho frowned heavily. </p>
<p>"Are you ok, Hobbs?"</p>
<p>Hobbie glanced back at him. "Bad stump day. Wes will be on point for this one," he said, stiff sounding and short. </p>
<p>When they reached the kitchen, Wes pulled out a chair for Hobbie, then sat down and began explaining the plan he'd outlined to Tycho earlier. Wedge and Plourr listened attentively.</p>
<p>"It's doable," Plourr said. "Right, Wedge?"</p>
<p>Wedge nodded. "Definitely. I do have some suggestions to make it easier but it's solid. Shouldn't be terrible expense-wise either." </p>
<p>Wes grinned. "I'm glad you guys approve."</p>
<p>Hobbie nodded. "You have my permission to go for it. Tycho, do you have any paperwork or anything that I need to sign?" </p>
<p>Tycho produced a few documents and Hobbie started reading over the paperwork. </p>
<p>"Take us to look at house," Plourr demanded of Wes.</p>
<p>Wes grinned. "You got it," he said, getting up. "I'll give you both the tour."</p>
<p>Wedge pulled out a digital camera and followed along. Plourr took up the rear, looking around. </p>
<p>"Do you know anything about the house or the former owner?" Wedge asked. </p>
<p>"The owner was Hobbie's... great-aunt, I think," Wes said. "I don't know a lot of the history. I know when I first came here it was full of dusty furniture and creepy dolls and stuff. We've cleared a lot of that out."</p>
<p>"I definitely appreciate that. Is Mr. Klivian going to be living here or is this more of a vacation home?" </p>
<p>"As far as I know, he's going to be living here," Wes said. "We definitely want it in shape for him to stay here year round."</p>
<p>Wedge nodded and took some pictures while Plourr went to the walls and took stock of the conditions. </p>
<p>"Structure is sound here but might be surprise later," Plourr commented. </p>
<p>"That's the construction business in one sentence," Wes agreed.</p>
<p>Plourr laughed. "Is true." </p>
<p>"How long was the home left empty?" Wedge asked, taking more pictures. </p>
<p>"Hobbie might know that part better than me. I know I've only been staying here a few months," Wes said. "I have the impression it was at least a few years since Great-aunt whatserface was out here."</p>
<p>"The first thing we'll want to check for is animal damage then. Have you uncovered anything or know if any pests are still around?" </p>
<p>"We found some empty animal nests, but no sign of anything currently living here. And we haven't had any electrical fires yet," Wes said, twisting his mouth wryly.</p>
<p>"Yet being the operative term. Have you noticed anything not working?" Wedge asked. </p>
<p>"Not yet, but we live in like a fifth of the house so far," Wes said. "We probably need to get the electric inspected or something."</p>
<p>"That's a given. I'll call Corran," Wedge told him. Plourr snorted. Wedge turned and gave her a look. "What?"</p>
<p>"Nothing. Corran is just high strung. I find him hilarious," Plourr told him. "Hard worker, excellent at job." </p>
<p>"He sounds interesting," Wes said. "What do you guys think of the veranda ramp idea I came up with? I mean, you're the professionals." He looked a little shy.</p>
<p>"I like it. It's a solid idea. We just need to work out the logistics and even that won't be too hard," Wedge told him. </p>
<p>Wes grinned. "I'm glad. I mean, I thought it was clever, but then I started wondering if there's a reason nobody does it, other than it looks... well, like a haunted house."</p>
<p>"Probably. Plus it takes a large house and people don't consider that as an option," Wedge said. </p>
<p>"True," Wes said. "We're not sure what to do with the rest of the house, but I think we'll have fun figuring it out."</p>
<p>Wedge grinned. "Definitely. It's going to be good working with you," he said, offering a hand. </p>
<p>Wes grinned and shook his hand. "You too. Both of you."</p>
<p>Plourr offered her hand. "Pleasure." </p>
<p>"We should check on Tycho and make sure they're getting along," Wedge said with a wry smile. </p>
<p>"They get along just fine," Wes said, starting to lead them back toward the kitchen. "So how did you two get involved with Tycho and his business?"</p>
<p>"Of course they do. But I've heard some stories," Wedge told him. "I met Tycho at the VA. We got to talking and here we are." </p>
<p>Plourr grinned. "He hire me, he not rude, not terrible. I decide to work with him." </p>
<p>"And if you didn't decide to work with him, nobody could force you to," Wes said, grinning up at Plourr. "I like you. Just saying."</p>
<p>Plourr nodded. "We will be good friends." </p>
<p>They entered the kitchen to see Hobbie and Tycho looking serious. Hobbie offered a wave. </p>
<p>"How's it going?" Wes asked, sitting down next to Hobbie.</p>
<p>"Good," Hobbie told him. "Just catching up on things," he said with half a smile. </p>
<p>"An old friend passed a bit ago and I didn't know until yesterday," Tycho explained. "Anyway, you guys in?"</p>
<p>Wedge nodded. "House seems sturdy and I want to get Corran in, let him loose on the electrical." </p>
<p>"I'm looking forward to working with them," Wes told Hobbie. "I think this will be fun."</p>
<p>Hobbie smiled briefly. "I'm glad. It's good to have this handled."</p>
<p>Tycho smirked. "You're welcome."</p>
<p>"The power has gone to your head, Tych," Hobbie teased him. Tycho flipped him off. "At least I have Wes. He loves me." </p>
<p>Wes blushed and elbowed Hobbie in the shoulder. "We're still outnumbered," he joked.</p>
<p>Plourr grinned. "I am on no one's side," she told them. </p>
<p>Wedge grinned too. "I know better than to get involved with Marines." </p>
<p>Wes laughed. "You're smarter than me, then."</p>
<p>Tycho took a look at his phone. "We have a plan. Let's break for now and get started tomorrow." </p>
<p>"Sounds good to me," Hobbie said. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hobbie sat down next to Wes, their legs touching and eating pasta. It was nice. Very basic. He kinda wanted to stay like this. Just him and Wes. The house was a disaster area so maybe not that part… but. Them. Hobbie took a deep breath. He shouldn't wish for that. It wasn't fair. </p>
<p>Wes leaned his shoulder against Hobbie a bit. "What do you want to do after dinner?" he asked. "Netflix, board games, or I could be quiet and let you read or whatever if you want."</p>
<p>"You don't have to be quiet," Hobbie told him. "I'm very used to constant noise. But Netflix might be good. We can watch things we've both missed." </p>
<p>"Aw," Wes said. "Just because you're used to constant noise doesn't mean you have to put up with it. But Netflix could be nice."</p>
<p>Hobbie grinned. "We can take turns choosing. You can pick our first movie-" His phone started ringing. "Of course," he rolled his eyes and pulled out the phone. His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath. "Fuck." He answered it. "Hello, Mother." </p>
<p>"Derek! How lovely to hear from you," Diane Klivian said pointedly. "How goes the remodeling?" </p>
<p>Wes leaned into Hobbie's line of sight, gesturing to ask if he should stay or go. Hobbie patted his leg, letting him know he could stay.</p>
<p>"It's coming along nicely, Mother," Hobbie said politely. "How are you doing?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I'm good. How is your recovery? You're not pushing yourself too much are you? I know how you are. Tell me the truth." </p>
<p>"I'm doing my exercises just like the doctor said," Hobbie replied, rolling his eyes. "There's no need to worry about me." He knew his Mother wasn't really worrying about him, just trying to push his buttons.</p>
<p>"You're my son. Of course I worry about you. I know California is lovely but you're all alone," Diane said. "Are you sure I can't come out? I could manage your contractor just as well as you can." </p>
<p>"You have so much to attend to in Boston, Mother," Hobbie said. "Don't inconvenience yourself for me. It'll take my contractor some time to finish the remodel anyway, more than you can spare to spend out here."</p>
<p>Diane huffed. "Well, ok. You're pretty good at this sort of thing. But I did want to let you know… your brother is having a gala and we could really use you here. I know I offered to come out but I meant after... Honestly, I need you here." </p>
<p>"Are you sure, Mother?" Hobbie asked innocently. "You know I'm not a politician like Darren. You think I'd be an asset?"</p>
<p>"Of course you will. You were wonderful with General Rea. Plus you know how much your brother loves you," she told him. </p>
<p>Hobbie bit his cheek, restraining a laugh. "Of course, if my darling brother doesn't think he can handle the military side of things by himself," he said, almost straight-faced.</p>
<p>"Derek. You don't be an asshole," Diane told him. "You have a certain personal touch that Darren doesn't." </p>
<p>"Well, when you put it that way," Hobbie said, smirking. "I'll be there, since I'm so necessary to the family."</p>
<p>"You're not cute," Diane told him. "Send me your flight information when you get it." </p>
<p>"Of course, Mother," Hobbie said. "Good night."</p>
<p>"I love you, Derek," Diane said saccharine sweet. "Good night." </p>
<p>Hobbie hung up and put his phone back in his pocket. He sighed, leaning back against the back of the sofa.</p>
<p>"You okay?" Wes asked casually.</p>
<p>"I have to go to Boston. My mother wants to parade me out for my brother's campaign. They need me. Apparently." Hobbie said, sarcastically. </p>
<p>"Only when they can yank your chain with it?" Wes asked. "I'm sorry. Is there any way I can help?"</p>
<p>"Pretty much. You get it," Hobbie told him. "Well. Keep busy doing the house. If you have questions, just call, I guess." </p>
<p>"I'll keep in touch," Wes said. "Do you want to call while you're away, or anything?"</p>
<p>"I probably will," Hobbie told him. "Would you like that?" </p>
<p>"Yes," Wes said. "I like hearing from you."</p>
<p>Hobbie smiled slightly. "Thank you. I can vent about everything so you have the Klivian experience." </p>
<p>Wes cackled. "I appreciate it?"</p>
<p>"I don't want you to think we're all as amazing and wonderful as me," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>Wes grinned. "You're something special."</p>
<p>Hobbie gave him a half smile. "Thanks. You're pretty great yourself." </p>
<p>"So," Wes said. "Netflix?"</p>
<p>Hobbie nodded and pulled up the menu. "Pick something," he told him and cuddled close. He sighed silently. Hobbie was annoyed at himself and his Mother. He gave in way too easily. </p>
<p>Wes wrapped his arm around Hobbie's shoulders, holding the remote in his other hand as he picked a movie. "You'll be okay," he said. "You're badass."</p>
<p>"Of course," Hobbie agreed. "But I appreciate it." </p>
<p>Wes snuggled close to him. "Glad to help."</p>
<p>Hobbie sighed and settled against him. "You do. You've been absolutely fantastic." </p>
<p>"That's good," Wes said. "Ready to start the movie?"</p>
<p>"Please," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>Wes started the movie and leaned against him, hugging him sideways. Hobbie hugged him back and watched the movie.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Hobbie got his go-bag out of the back seat and watched the Uber drive down the driveway. He looked at the house and blinked. It looked so much better! Did they wash the outside? Hobbie had been out of pocket for a month and it was like looking at a new house. He walked up the new looking ramp and glanced around. The porch was nice!</p>
<p>He entered the house, seeing all the changes. It was beautifully done. Everything was just like he wanted. He smiled and walked through the house, feeling a million times better. </p>
<p>He heard a noise coming from the back part of the house, voices raised in raucous song. He headed in that direction, noticing that the halls were clean and repainted.</p>
<p>Coming into the room where he'd first met Wes, he saw several figures in various states of undress painting the walls. Wes stood on a stepladder by the window, shirtless and wearing jean shorts, painting the wall above the window; Plourr, in sports bra and board shorts, was running a roller over another wall. They were both singing boisterously in a language Hobbie didn't recognize. Wedge, in a tank top and very scraggly rolled-up khakis, was carefully edging along the baseboards.</p>
<p>Hobbie watched them, feeling at home. He didn't know what they were singing but it was really nice. This was exactly what he needed after being stuck in Boston for so damn long. </p>
<p>Wes turned his head and spotted Hobbie out the corner of his eye. "Hobbie!" he said happily. He put down his paintbrush, bounced down from the ladder, and ran over to hug Hobbie. "You're back! Didn't stab your brother yet?"</p>
<p>Hobbie chuckled and hugged him back. "I was getting close and they were done with me so I ran. Plus I taught the nieces and nephews a lot of swear words so I had to run for my life and well being before my sister murdered me." </p>
<p>"Always so tactful," Wes said, grinning up at him.</p>
<p>"A good soldier knows the best time to retreat. But holy fuck, you did wicked good," Hobbie told him, looking pleased. </p>
<p>Wes looked pleased. "Thank you. We're almost done, this is one of the last rooms we need to paint, and then we just have to put the furniture back."</p>
<p>"Awesome job. Like, this is… the house looks fantastic," he told everyone. </p>
<p>Wedge shrugged awkwardly. "Thank you."</p>
<p>"Take compliment," Plourr told Wedge, poking him.</p>
<p>"Not his strong suit," Hobbie teased him. "But damn. People can live here." </p>
<p>"You can live here," Wes said, smiling. "Want to grab a paintbrush and help us finish up, or would you rather sit and direct?"</p>
<p>Hobbie looked around and shook his head. "I am very tired so a seat, I think." </p>
<p>Wes grandly waved Hobbie to one of the dropcloth-covered sofas. "Can I get you a drink or anything?"</p>
<p>"That's ok. I've got a drink in my bag," he told him, going to the couch. Hobbie sat down. "Did we get new furniture?" </p>
<p>"Mostly we just cleaned what there was," Wes said. "I mean, it's your house, I figure you get to make the final calls on the decor and whatnot."</p>
<p>"Ok. Sounds good to me," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>Wes trotted back up the ladder and went back to work. "So how did the expedition go?"</p>
<p>"It was all bullshit. Too many fuckheads. I did my song and dance and I'm sure my brother will win his election," Hobbie told them with a roll of his eyes. </p>
<p>"Aw, I'm sorry," Wes said, smirking at him.</p>
<p>"I'm not voting for him," Hobbie said. "Which reminds me. I'd better get registered so whoever wins here can yell at him hopefully," he told them.</p>
<p>"If you're going to be living here, that's definitely important," Wes agreed.</p>
<p>"I'll add it to the list," Hobbie told them. </p>
<p>"After you get some rest, we can give you a tour and you can decide what more needs to be done," Wes said.</p>
<p>Hobbie nodded and relaxed in his seat, closing his eyes. </p>
<p>Tycho walked into the room and stopped short. "When did he get back?" </p>
<p>"Just now," Wes told him cheerfully. "Playtime's over."</p>
<p>"The Captain doesn't pay attention," Tycho said with a grin. Hobbie flipped him off without opening his eyes. </p>
<p>"You would have reason to know, yes?" Plourr said.</p>
<p>"Definitely," Tycho told her. "So I came to disturb you." </p>
<p>Wes waved his paintbrush. "Consider us disturbed."</p>
<p>"You mean more than you were?" Tycho teased him. </p>
<p>"Good point," Wes said, grinning. "Grab a paintbrush?"</p>
<p>Tycho grabbed a brush and got to working. "So, Wes. I've been thinking and after talking with Wedge and Plourr, I want to ask if you'd like a job?" </p>
<p>"Oh," Wes said, sounding as if he hadn't thought about it. "With you? I'd -- I'd like that. Are you sure?"</p>
<p>Tycho nodded. "Definitely. You're a hard worker and you have what I look for in my workers. You managed the project basically on your own. I need to hire you before someone else snaps you up." </p>
<p>Wes flushed a little. "You're very flattering. Well, I like you and I like working with Wedge and Plourr. Assuming we can hash out a fair deal, I accept."</p>
<p>"We'll start our negotiations whenever you like. But we offer vacation time immediately and health care. We work a dangerous job and you need coverage. We offer training and certification as well." Tycho told him, still working. </p>
<p>"Sounds amazing," Wes said. "And I know Wedge and Plourr think highly of you. You've got a deal."</p>
<p>"Excellent. We can discuss payment after we finish up here." Tycho told him. </p>
<p>"For sure," Wes said. "Thank you."</p>
<p>"Of course. I'm lucky to have found you," Tycho told him. </p>
<p>Wes shot him a momentary grin. "We're both lucky."</p>
<p>"Anyway, let's get this finished up and talk over your contract," Tycho told him. </p>
<p>"Absolutely," Wes said, beaming.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>"So," Wes said, poking at his supper. "I guess this is it. Everything's remodeled, I'm working for Tycho as of Monday. Should I be looking for my own place, or do you still want me kicking around?" he asked a little shyly.</p>
<p>Hobbie looked at him. "It's your choice. You might want your own little place but there will be no kicking out. I like having you here. It makes it easier when I have bad days. But don't feel obligated."</p>
<p>"I like being here," Wes admitted. "It's nice. Like having... a home that I helped make?"</p>
<p>"You did far more work than I did," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>"We did it together," Wes said. "Decisions and stuff. It's a really nice place now."</p>
<p>"It really is. She would be happy with what we've done with the place. So, what is Tycho having you do?" Hobbie asked. He had stayed out of it other than giving a good word.</p>
<p>"Basically what I've been doing here. Input on designs, finish work, some of the heavy lifting. Not too much until I finish recovering, but I'm doing okay so far."</p>
<p>"Indeed," Hobbie agreed. "That will be good though." </p>
<p>"So. Now that I'm not working on the house anymore. Do we need to figure out a roommate agreement or anything? Split up chores, figure out how I earn my keep?" Wes asked. "Should I be paying rent now or anything?"</p>
<p>Hobbie frowned. "Um. We can figure out a fair rent payment once you start getting checks. If there's a chore you see, do it. I mean, I do have limitations." </p>
<p>"Works for me," Wes said. "I mean, we already know we do okay living together."</p>
<p>"Definitely. It feels so good being finished," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>"Absolutely," Wes agreed. "We did a good job."</p>
<p>Hobbie gave him a complicated look. "You definitely did." </p>
<p>Wes snorted. "Hey, it's your house. I just made suggestions and ran around doing things."</p>
<p>Hobbie nodded. "Which is great. But definitely, don't move unless you want too. I like to have someone here." </p>
<p>"I like being here," Wes said. "With you." He looked a little shy at that.</p>
<p>"Well, that's settled. Do you want to finish off these vegetables?" Hobbie asked. </p>
<p>"Sure," Wes said, helping himself. Hobbie finished eating and drank his soda. </p>
<p>"I feel lazy today," he complained. </p>
<p>"Well, we just finished a major construction project," Wes pointed out. "You deserve a break. Maybe we should cuddle on the sofa and watch Netflix or something."</p>
<p>"We can. What show are you on?" Hobbie asked. </p>
<p>Wes shrugged. "I figure you can pick."</p>
<p>Hobbie frowned. "Maybe a movie. I like weird stuff," he admitted. </p>
<p>"Like I didn't know that already," Wes teased. </p>
<p>Hobbie chuckled. He pushed himself up and grabbed his plate and some of the other dishes. "Clean up the rest of the table and we'll sit." </p>
<p>Wes followed him into the kitchen, carrying the rest of the dishes, and helped put them in the dishwasher. Once it had been started and drinks gotten, they went to the tv room together. Hobbie sat down heavily, rearranging himself so Wes could cuddle up. </p>
<p>Wes snuggled up next to him and put his head on Hobbie's shoulder, handing him the remote. "So what should we watch?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I'm sure there's something. What do you like usually?"</p>
<p>"Comedies, action movies, I like a lot of stuff. What about you?"</p>
<p>"Action movies mostly. Scifi. Depends on the story honestly. Let's see what we have here," Hobbie told him. They browsed until they found Oceans 11. "What about this?" </p>
<p>"Sure," Wes said. "Seems like fun."</p>
<p>Hobbie pressed play and they watched together. Soon enough, Wes started drifting against Hobbie. He was so warm and comfortable here. Once he was on the edge of consciousness he heard Hobbie whisper.</p>
<p>"I think I'm falling for you. God, I'm a creep," Hobbie said. </p>
<p>Wes didn't react, but he was pretty sure he hadn't dreamed it. He'd deal with that later.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>"So you guys are probably going to laugh at me," Wes told Wedge and Plourr over lunch the next day, "but I have kind of a problem. Maybe? I don't know."</p>
<p>Plourr grinned. "More than I already do? Hard to believe." </p>
<p>Wes laughed. "Trust you to keep it in perspective, Plourr. But last night, Hobbie and I were watching Netflix and I was kind of falling asleep, and I'm pretty sure I heard him say he's like... falling for me. And then he was like 'I'm such a creep', so I don't know how he feels about it or if I should like. You know. Say anything. Or what I'd even say."</p>
<p>Wedge gave him a searching look. "Well. First of all, is he a creep? Because if he is, Plourr will happily kick his ass." </p>
<p>"No!" Wes said. "Not at all. He's been great. But I don't want to make him uncomfortable. Even though I really, really like him, and maybe it would be good if we could... figure something out. But what if he doesn't want to?" He buried his face in his arms, frustrated.</p>
<p>"Is he older?" Plourr asked gently. "Not by much if looks but, you are baby." </p>
<p>"He's a <em>Marine</em>," Wes said. "He's only a couple years older than I am but he's..." He blushed miserably. "He's more... experienced. Like I've never dated anyone. At all. I don't know how to <em>do</em> this!"</p>
<p>Wedge furrowed his brows. "You've never dated? Not even in high school?" </p>
<p>Wes shook his head. "I had a lot going on in high school. Also, it was Texas. I didn't... it just didn't happen, okay?" He tugged crossly at his hair.</p>
<p>"Fundamentalist Christian family?" Wedge asked shrewdly. </p>
<p>"Catholic, but essentially. Latin Mass, the whole nine yards. I didn't -- I've never even kissed anybody. You see why I'm worried I'm going to screw things up with Hobbie," Wes said fretfully. "He's so far out of my league. What if he just laughs at me? What if I do something stupid?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. I get that. But mine was Adventist and weird. Ok. So obviously, you want to start by communicating," Wedge told him. "Tell him." </p>
<p>"Love starts with talking," Plourr commented. </p>
<p>"I just... I like what we have. But I also want so much more. What if I mess things up by trying to talk to him about it?" Wes asked. "I mean, he's a good guy, but... it's a lot."</p>
<p>"He like you, you like him. It doesn't have to change much. Just another layer of like," Plourr told him. </p>
<p>Wes sighed. "I guess I'll try. If I get my ass kicked out, you have to promise not to beat him up, Plourr," he said.</p>
<p>"I make no promises," Plourr told him. "Who knows what happen when I get bored? No one. Least of all me." </p>
<p>"That's fair," Wes said, laughing. "Fine. I'll give it a shot."</p>
<p>"We're here if it goes tits up," Wedge told him. "I've got an extra bed." </p>
<p>Wes nodded. "Hopefully I won't need to take you up on that."</p>
<p>"You won't. But it's always good to have a plan," Wedge told him. </p>
<p>"I'm glad you're more confident than I am," Wes said wryly.</p>
<p>Wedge grinned. "Well, I can afford to be." </p>
<p>Wes flipped him off. "We should get back to work."</p>
<p>Wedge stood up chuckling as Plourr reached over and ruffled Wes's hair. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Wes elbowed the front door open. He'd brought home Chinese takeout for both of them, figuring it would be easier to have an important conversation if he wasn't trying to cook. He still had no idea how to actually bring up the topic, though.</p>
<p>"Hey, Hobbs,” he said awkwardly, bringing the food into the kitchen where they usually ate. "How's it going?"</p>
<p>Hobbie shrugged. "I worked on decorating a bit. Which, wow, now that I've said that, sounds about gay. Anyway, did you get crab rangoons and egg drop soup?" </p>
<p>"Of course," Wes said. "I know what you like." He set the food down and started opening the boxes.</p>
<p>Hobbie chuckled. "I'd hope so at this point. What do you want me to do?" </p>
<p>"You can get some plates if you want, or we can just eat out of the boxes," Wes said. "Might be better to have a plate for the crab rangoon so I don't eat it all before you get there." He grinned.</p>
<p>"I'll straight up murder you with the power of my mind. Also my cane," Hobbie told him. "Boxes are fine otherwise." </p>
<p>"I definitely don't want to get murdered," Wes joked. "So we'll split the crab rangoon in half."</p>
<p>Hobbie laughed. They brought everything to the table and sat down. "So, how is your new project coming?" </p>
<p>"It's going well," Wes said. "Tycho still has me working with Wedge and Plourr. I guess because we're a good team."</p>
<p>"Based on what I saw, definitely," Hobbie told him. "That's good though." </p>
<p>Wes started eating his food, feeling somewhat distracted. He still hadn't come up with any way to ask Hobbie about... anything.</p>
<p>"I called my Mother today. She asked me about you. I told her you were doing great," he told him. "My brother is still running for office and they invited me to come out when they campaign here. I said I'd think about it." </p>
<p>"Meaning you'll make sure to be out of town that week?" Wes suggested.</p>
<p>"How did you guess?" Hobbie asked dryly. </p>
<p>Wes snickered. He wasn't sure how he felt about Hobbie's family knowing he existed, but he'd deal with that when it became relevant. Unless he was out of town with Hobbie, or... "So Plourr says I should ask you out," he blurted before he really thought it through.</p>
<p>Hobbie blinked. "Um. Like on a date?" </p>
<p>"Yes?" Wes stammered. "Only if you want. I mean... oh, fuck." He pushed his food aside and began thumping his head on the table.</p>
<p>Hobbie put his prosthetic in the way. "Don't," he said. "I graciously accept." </p>
<p>Wes looked up, embarrassed. "Are you making fun of me?" he asked. He wasn't sure if Hobbie was or not.</p>
<p>"Why would I?" Hobbie asked.  </p>
<p>Wes shrugged. "I don't know. Because I'm a dork. Because I messed up. Because you thought I was joking?"</p>
<p>"I mean, if you, that's… disappointing but ok. I won't be a dick about it," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>"I mean, I wasn't joking," Wes said, blushing awkwardly. "I just, it came out wrong. But I do want to..."</p>
<p>"Great. Where shall we go?" Hobbie asked. </p>
<p>"Um. I don't know," Wes admitted. "I hadn't gotten that far."</p>
<p>"Well, when you figure it out, I'll pick you up," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>"But like... it's okay? You want to go out with me?" Wes asked.</p>
<p>"Wes. I've had a thing for you since the moment we got in a fight about hardwood, laminate, or carpeting," Hobbie told him point blank. </p>
<p>Wes laughed. "That's okay then. God, I was so worried."</p>
<p>"You're pretty hot all cleaned up, you know?" Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>Wes grinned. "Aw, thank you. You're not too bad looking yourself."</p>
<p>"I'm pretty as fuck," Hobbie told him with a smirk. </p>
<p>"Yes you are," Wes said, laughing. "So assuming this works out, what do we do when your family comes campaigning? I think that's where this train of thought started. I mean, I'm good to stay closeted or whatever you want."</p>
<p>Hobbie looked at him. "Well. It's not like they can do shit about it. If we're still a thing then I'll come out. But even if we end up not being boyfriends, you have a place. We just need to be honest with each other, ok?" </p>
<p>Wes nodded. "I mean, this is all new to me. I've never... dated or anything, before. So there's that."</p>
<p>Hobbie raised his eyebrows then nodded. "We will go glacially slow if you want that. You set the speed, ok?" </p>
<p>"I... I don't know how fast I want to go," Wes admitted. "I just. I like you, and I think we could be good together, and I want... I want to make it work. I just have no experience with any of this."</p>
<p>"That's ok. It's actually pretty common," Hobbie told him. "Especially for people like us." </p>
<p>Wes tugged at his hair. "I guess. I always feel like such a freak."</p>
<p>"That's just being considered different. We've all felt like that," Hobbie told him. </p>
<p>Wes sighed and nodded. "I'm sure you're right. But yeah, we should... we should try this." He reached across the table, smiling a bit shyly.</p>
<p>Hobbie took his hand and held it. "That would be very nice." </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Written to the prompt “I bought a house three months ago but I’m finally moving in and discover you’ve been squatting because you’re homeless”, from a Tumblr list of “meet ugly” prompts.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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